


how easy you are to (figuratively) need

by Writing01



Series: Valued [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Adopted Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Sweetheart, Bullied Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Classism, Codependency, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Good Friend, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Sweetheart, Depressed Logic | Logan Sanders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Five Stages of Grief, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I REPEAT: NO ONE DIES, I'm my own beta reader baby, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Logic | Logan Sanders Has Panic Attacks, Logic | Logan Sanders Needs a Hug, Logic | Logan Sanders is Bad at Feelings, Logic | Logan Sanders-centric, Loss, Mentioned Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Mentioned Deceit | Janus Sanders - Freeform, Mentioned Emile Picani - Freeform, Mentioned Sleep | Remy Sanders, Mentioned Thomas Sanders - Freeform, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Good Friend, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Sweetheart, Not Really Character Death, Pack Family, Patton says trans rights, Platonic LAMP - Freeform, Protective Logic | Logan Sanders, Protectiveness, Repression, Roman's 20 years old, Sacrifice, Sad Logic | Logan Sanders, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Sacrifice, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Teenage Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Vaguely suicidal Logic | Logan Sanders, Werewolf Logic | Logan Sanders, Whump, Young Adult Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Young Adult Logic | Logan Sanders, Young Adult Morality | Patton Sanders, and I suck at the English language, and therapy, he's basically a child, internalized discrimination, no one dies, this is probably the most ive ever worked on something purely for myself and im proud of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing01/pseuds/Writing01
Summary: Logan is a werewolf who finds three humans have taken up residence in a cabin on the edge of his territory. He ends up hopelessly attached despite his better judgement.Caught between how he believes humans and werewolves should act and the reality of deserving love and happiness, Logan fights against both his werewolf and human urges for connection, community, and love. Meanwhile said humans Roman, Patton, Virgil seem intent on breaking down the stoic and mysterious stranger's walls in the hopes of fostering a loving relationship as a way to repay him and include him in their family.It would be cute if he wasn't an oblivious moron convinced that their main goal is to murder him once he's forced back into his lupine form under a full moon, with the sole purpose of using his magic werewolf carcass for spells and enchantments.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton
Series: Valued [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976815
Comments: 43
Kudos: 139





	1. Lucky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [how easy you are to need](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20621726) by [delimeful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delimeful/pseuds/delimeful). 



When Logan was eight, approximately a year before he was turned, he was taught the odds of his existence. It was an adult who told him, but who they were, he had only vague guesses. Truly, the only definite thing he could ever recall was that lesson this person had told him one clear night.

They had laid on their back on a roof of a house-- possibly Logan’s house-- and pointed at the shimmering and glittering stars that dotted the sky above them. _Impossibly_ small, _impossibly_ beautifully. 

The way the universe wrapped around him, a tight embrace he couldn’t feel-- he treasured that. He felt so lucky to be a part of such a spectacle, and he told the person so.

The stranger had smiled. They sat up and ruffled his hair in a way strangers don’t. “You really are lucky, Logan,” they’d started, “do you know just _how_ lucky?” Logan had shook his head, staring at the Pleiades sisters. The seven little dots were gorgeous.

“Do you want to know the odds of you existing?” The little boy nodded slowly, eyes torn from Taurus and glued to the stranger who positively gleamed with amusement at the curiosity coursing through Logan.

“Two million, six hundred, eighty-five, thousand,” Logan studied their eyes, brown and sparkly from the reflection of the stars, “Isn’t that a big number?”

“It is a _really_ big number-- are those… are those _the odds_?” Logan asked, eyes round with awe.

“No,” they leaned forward and kissed his forehead lovingly, “that’s the amount of _zeros_ in the number that is the odds.”

Logan’s impossibly wide eyes got even wider. 

One in 10^2,685,000. That was Logan.

He nodded with the memory, as if fact checking a particularly badly worded news article. _They were factually correct,_ he conceded to himself, settling into his den. It was underneath a pine tree's low canopy, and he curled in next to the trunk. _It is truly a large number. Ergo, I truly am incredibly lucky simply by existing._

That acknowledged, as he settled his long snout into large paws, watching snowflakes drift almost lazily to the ground, he was incredibly bothered. The snowflakes were slow and small, but he wouldn’t let that fool him into thinking something other than the truth. They were a sign. Mother Nature was prepared to freeze the entire land into an icy one of pain. A truly freezing hell. One Logan wasn’t sure he could survive this year. 

He decided to himself that as lucky as he statistically was, it was nights like this that he sure didn’t feel it.

* * *

Hours had passed. The snow hadn’t stopped. It was merciless. He was chilled to the bone. He always had a deep ache inside of him, one that felt numb and cold and empty, one that had never really gone away, and the winter season seemed to make the ache hurt worse. It was intensely heightened by the snow falling slowly and oppressively, and Logan knew that nothing he did could stop it.

How awful, really. Each snowflake smaller than a quarter of an inch. They drift too, like feathers, but still so much lighter. By oneself, unable to do any harm. Certainly not at their size nor pace. But altogether over a long enough period of time? A slow and painful death, started from pieces of frozen water forming around the smallest grains of dust. Something so small and slow would be the death of him.

He stood up on his four legs. On the outskirts of Logan’s territory stood a cabin. It was warded heavily against things like him. Supernatural things. The magic on it was damn near unclockable; the spells were designed to be impossible for most nonhuman things to break.

He was lucky he wasn’t most nonhuman things. In a past life, he had studied magic for what felt like his whole life, showing great promise in a field his mind was years beyond his age in. Most everyone thought he would grow up to be quite the bright mage.

Bitterness in the future stolen from him stabbed him in the gut.

He brought his thoughts back to where he needed them to be. Given that he had stripped away as many of the cabins’ spells as he could over the years, he figured he could use it for tonight. Logically, he knew he had made the right choice in preparing the cabin for himself: winter storms got heavy. Sometimes _too_ heavy. Despite his thick, insulating fur, sometimes he had to go back to the little building to stay alive.

Didn’t mean he had to like it though. It reminded him too much of his old life. For the sake of his mental health, he opted to only stay in the little house when his only other option was death. He wasn’t going to squander the near impossible chance at life he was given just because he was too bent up about his luck not being better. He wasn’t that type of person.

That said, he wasn't going to dwell in places that would mess with his head too much. That wouldn't be a very logical thing to do.

Logan stood from his spot.

He forced his paws to move forward, two in front of two in front of two in front of two, promising himself he would get a break after the next few steps, promising that soon-- _soon,_ he would get to rest and sit and let the tension and the ache in his body dissipate a little. He never fulfilled the promise until he finally met the clearing before him; he walked the whole way.

He looked to the cabin and saw to his dismay, light stream through the windows, orange and probably warm, lit in a fireplace, given the curls of smoke that left the simple stone chimney. It was seductively falling and floating and twisting as it formed a snake into the sky that not even Logan’s lupine vision could track.

He sat down in a heap, staring at the little wooden structure. 

He had really messed up this time, huh. He had _noticed_ the strange scent. Maybe he’d even known that humans had come into the mountainscape and taken residence, but he’d just chosen to lie to himself and shield himself from the painful reality. 

Staring at the warm little abode, he wondered what he could have done better.

Though he did his best to remain diligent at all times, it hadn't been good enough. He was supposed to be a well-oiled-machine. How could he have let himself malfunction so?

He made sure to follow a schedule. Habits are easy to fall into, useful for keeping said schedule. He had habits, he had a schedule, he kept habits for a schedule. Habits like patrolling his territory twice a day. Once before sunrise and once before sunset, like clockwork, smelling, hearing, looking for any discrepancy in the life he had gotten used to. He’d made a habit to investigate within three days of sensing something.

_Habits. These were good habits._

On his patrols he always made sure to stop by and drink some water from the lake, even if he didn’t feel particularly thirsty. On his patrols he would hunt too, sometimes. Spot a rabbit, chase a rabbit, kill the rabbit, ration the rabbit to last a day and a half.

Maybe wolves weren't so mathematical, but...

_He wasn’t really a wolf._

Wolves have habits but wolves don’t have the diligence of humans. He had to be held to a higher standard than both. A higher standard to stay alive. To stay alive he needed a schedule and he needed habits. 

Oh, he was a well-oiled machine, _yes-he-was_. Well-oiled, well-oiled machine.

Smart like a person, unfeeling like a beast, both, neither, all, none. Habitual, scheduled, aware, ruthless. Leaving no room for mistake. No room for joy. No room for mistake.

But he’d made a mistake. He’d made a _mistake_.

Emotion makes _people_ make mistakes. Emotion had made _him_ make a mistake. _He wasn’t a person._

It was because he had gotten emotional. If he had just been unfeeling and checked the stupid cabin, he wouldn’t be in this stupid situation. 

If he had listened to his brain instead of his heart, he would have known already. Logic and reason tossed out the window in favor of denial. Denial in favor of ignorance, ignorance in favor of bliss.

So now he was here.

He had dragged himself out into the bitter cold to take shelter somewhere he should have been more aware couldn’t offer him shelter. Panicked and angry thoughts swirled through his head like the smoke from the cabin. He was shaken from the negative train when a snowflake landed in his right eye, causing him to blink rapidly, snapping him back to the here and now of his situation.

Head hung low, he turned around and began the long trek back to his only slightly warmer den. Better to back out then before he died of the cold, or his thoughts, or the angry human(s) taking notice of him and deciding to do a little pest control. He was too weak, malnourished, tired, and cold to survive confrontation, much less come victorious of a fight.

* * *

Days later, Logan would sway and stumble like a drunkard after a hefty night of mourning from the safety of the trees.

He’d call himself half-dead, but that would imply he was half-alive.

Before he even knew where he was, he tripped over his own paws and fell face-first into the frozen, icy ground.

Twelve feet away from the entrance of the cabin. He didn’t even know where he was going. Perhaps his feet could sense just how ready to die Logan was and did the work without having to be asked. 

Oh _god_ , he was just so cold. He just wanted to stop being cold. _Anything_ to stop being cold. If he was caught by the humans-- and they _were_ multiple humans as he’d observed, a day or two prior-- his death would be quicker and much less painful than if he let Mother Nature and her frozen anger finish him off. Observing himself, he knew he looked a bit big for a wolf. Absurdly, he found himself ironically thankful of the years of near starvation he'd been put through nearly his whole life. He wasn’t as nearly big as other shifters. He easily passed as just a monstrously large wolf. 

Maybe these humans would kill him quickly. 

He just had to give them a chance.

He stepped to the door, his mind made, his death to be met. He clambered up the creaky wooden stairs, and the light and warmth leaking from the interior fell onto his body. A small gasp, one he wasn’t sure how he’d uttered in this form, had left his throat. 

He stood there, frozen, warming up for several minutes. His sluggish mind began to wake up and a string of ideas began to coil itself up inside his skull. He lowered himself into a crouch and pushed himself against the side of the house, as to not be seen through the glass windows. He moved forward along the sides, knowing that if he followed the wall long enough he would find a little door. It was discreetly built into the house, marked only by three perfectly round stones set in holes carved into the porch just behind the house. They were arranged to form the three points of a triangle. When Logan had first investigated the then abandoned house, he’d noticed the little pattern. He had shifted to his humanoid form and felt the area, realizing that the spot was laced with a spell to keep the door shut.

In present time, after shifting low along the ground for a while, he came across the spot with the stones. He reached a paw out and prodded the stone set at the top of the triangle twice, then he touched the one on the right once, the one on the left three times. 

A small section of the wall swung backwards, revealing a crawl space. Hunters were paranoid freaks. In the building they stood up, they almost always had an escape route or five built into the walls in case the worst case scenario came to pass. 

Logan crawled in. His ears were pricked for any sound of the humans. Be it them yelling or swinging the door open or the sound of a gun cocking, ready to give the stretch of wall an impromptu paint job. Logan heard nothing, and allowed himself a small moment to rejoice.

He’d live to be a beast at least until the end of the night. The crawl space was a tunnel, in essence. It started at ground level and then moved up and up and up until he realized with a little shock as he heard a particularly hearty laugh echo beneath him, that he was directly above where the humans were currently residing. Nervousness bubbled up inside of him. He shoved it away. It was either this or death. 

He crawled further, noting how occasionally there were passages on either side of him breaking off into different sections of the house, probably because the hunter who lived there wanted multiple escape routes. He crawled the same route though, feeling warmer with every inch he crossed. Eventually, he crawled until a metal grate lay before him, embedded in the “floor” of the tunnel. 

The metal grate had a cloaking spell on it, probably to reinforce to any outsider that this was a simple cabin by making the ceiling look like pure wood. Unfortunately for Logan, this meant he couldn’t see through it. Nonetheless, he was close enough to hear the fire crackle and pop occasionally, like a child giggling at a joke with a punchline only they knew. 

Logan was satisfied to stay here. No matter the situation, he was alive and unnoticed, and if he played his cards right, he would stay that way.

 _That said_. The house’s residents were in the same room as the fire. The same room as Logan.

He was far too close to humans for his comfort, but at least it didn’t seem they were going to notice him anytime soon. Because all that separated the three from the one was the grate and maybe twelve feet at most, Logan could hear all they said with clarity. This was only helped by his heightened hearing. 

As much as he would have loved to ignore their conversations and talk, logically speaking, he couldn’t. By listening in, he would know if they realized there was a two-hundred or so pound carnivorous predator hanging over their heads like a freezing and soaked miserable bat, and he could act accordingly before they could.

He settled in, listening and falling in and out of consciousness here and there. As the hours slipped by-- and slip by, they did, time seemed to pass quicker when Logan felt warm and safe-- he began to understand the humans below him, piecing together voices and personalities and quirks like an on fire one thousand piece puzzle set. 

Roman Prince, the first’s name was. He was loud and boisterous, energetic like a child, charismatic like a dying dung beetle, but charming like a handsome comedian. All the pieces fit together strangely, yet so seamlessly, and Logan couldn’t help but to find the man entertaining and kind. He talked like if a Disney prince was the punchline, the comic relief. He spoke arrogantly, and Logan was positive that he was exaggerating grossly during his stories. He would have loved to have been able to correct the man, but obviously that wasn’t an option. He would toss nicknames left and right at his companions, usually puns with little jabs that Logan wouldn’t understand until after a few seconds after the fact. 

Patton Hart was the second most talkative human. If Logan wasn’t aware of the fire and he was the type to use figurative language, he might presume that the warmth bathing him was emanating from Patton. Friendly to a fault, kind until the end, he spoke each sentence woven with fondness and a naïve kind of love. He made even more jokes and puns than Roman, and no matter how unfunny Logan found the little bundles of wit by themselves, Patton’s delivery alone made each sentence monumentally more humorous. He never hid his reaction to anything, adding commentary here and there sometimes on how he felt about a certain person’s actions or behaviors in Roman’s stories. 

Virgil Knight was the shyest, quietest, and probably the one Logan related to the most. He was anxious and quick to point out flaws or inconsistencies in Roman’s stories, and he always seemed to notice all the possibilities for failure. He was pessimistic and negative, but nonetheless, it was abundantly clear how fond of his fellows he really was. It was mutual, judging by the way he and Roman loved to banter and Patton would call him his “kiddo”. Logan didn’t think any of them were biologically related, but he supposed it was possible. 

The humans cared for each other, no matter their blood relations, given by the closeness they demonstrated through their otherwise purposeless back and forth that Logan decided they would only have if they enjoyed each other enough to freely indulge in. The talk was easy, friendly, and displayed a level of companionship that Logan had accepted years ago that he would never have. As a werewolf, he didn’t really have a pack of wolves he hung around as their minds worked so differently, nor a group of humans he recognized as his community since no one with half a brain and some survival instinct would go near him. Maybe if he hadn’t been turned, he would have been able to experience the show going on below him within the group instead of on the outside looking in, but that was an impossibility now. Better to focus on the present, he decided. 

He eventually dozed off, thoughts of a different life evaporating like dew. 

* * *

Logan woke up sometime later, the air lukewarm, the house below dark and quiet. The humans had fallen asleep too, it seemed. Logan looked at the grate, wheels in his head spinning. He could easily break it down and jump the three humans as they slept. In theory, it would be more or less simple. Go for Roman first. He was the bravest, the one who would be most likely to vanquish the deadly beast. Then Virgil. He was smart and would already be thinking about how to kill Logan or escape before he was even fully awake. Patton would be last, softest and too kind to fight back, especially after watching his two friends slaughtered so easily by a vicious beast.

Even if he had a tumble down from the ceiling, even in his starved and barely alive state, he would have the upper hand. And if he died-- well, it’s not like he would care. Not like anyone really would. He should, logically, do it. Humans always ended up trying to kill him. He was the monster, they were superior, they wouldn’t rest until the perceived threat had been stabbed or burned. Killed off, as things like him should be. It was defense from an offensive attack that hadn’t taken place yet.

He thought about it the whole way out of the tunnel. It was too much trouble to kill off the strange humans, and in any case, he should eat before making an attack. So he would go off on a hunt. Then it would be easier to kill the humans. 

There was no other reason for him to leave them alone in their comfortable little cabin, he tried to convince himself. Really, he was just doing the most logical and reasonable thing.

* * *

He went back to the tunnels for another night.

Head resting between paws as humans chatted idly below him, Logan reflected offhandedly that maybe it was a blessing he was alone. Any packmates he might have would just get rid of him if they ever realized just how soft and emotional he could be.

At any rate, sometimes Logan could convince himself that he really was doing what he was doing from a place of logic. With the humans and their fire there, Logan slept easy every night. He knew he was supposed to feel anxious at the prospect of being near such violent creatures, but he wasn’t. His sleep improved, so his thinking improved, and his hunting improved, and he ate easier. 

He would get rid of them in the spring, yes he would. Once spring came, he would have no short term use for them to exist nearby.

... On the other hand, he could always play the long game and let them stay until next winter.

He had no idea if they would even stay that long, or if Roman would merk him before then.

He would get rid of them in the spring, yes he would. The accidental service they provided him with of their warm fire would no longer be available for him to even use anymore. His only reason to let them live _was_ the fire, after all, and once the need for it was gone, the need for them was gone too. 

The fire was all they provided. Logan’s desire to keep them around had little to nothing to do with their figurative warmth. It had little to nothing to do with how lonely Logan had become, and how this way he could play pretend at having someone. 

And even if it was, he knew better than anyone that their warmth would never be rewarded to him. He knew how the story went, as it had been told to him a million times before.

Things are fine. Then Logan gets clumsy. Then he’s seen. Then the human gets violent. Then things would not be fine. Humans are smart, cunning, clever. Violent humans? Tenfold. _Vicious._

If Logan had to describe humans with one word, it would be vicious. Even when Logan was a pup, barely small enough to reach most humans’ thighs, he was treated like hellspawn. Now, when he was a full-grown wolf, humans flipped their lids at an entirely new level. And frankly, who could blame them?

Indeed, if these three humans saw him, he would be done for. Nonetheless, for the sake of not feeling cold and tired all the time, he took advantage of their existence. He found himself hiding away in the little tunnel above their home most days, and as a result he began to learn more and more about his humans.

To start, Patton baked an obscene amount. Gingerbread, chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, vanilla, sugar, peanut butter-- any cookie, _every_ cookie had been baked at least six times since Logan had started to take up residence above their residence. He loved to garden and knit too, apparently, his favorite plants being pumpkins, potatoes, onions, and peppers. 

Roman had a thing for writing, and practicing with his incredibly long and sharp sword. Logan had found out the hard way after he had crawled out of the little tunnel only to be met with Roman fighting an invisible opponent six yards from where Logan crouched, feeling relieved after the initial shock and terror wore off as he realized Roman was too caught up in himself to realize that he was very, very close to a very, very large apex predator, especially when he had that damned death-stick. 

Virgil, surprising Logan deeply, really enjoyed flowers and plants. He was a botanist. He loved all plants, but had a penchant for herbs and mints in particular, saying he loved it when the flowers smelled fragrant and sweet. The man would spend hours on the edges of the forest, picking flowers, inspecting thorns, and overall just “nerding out” over the littlest plant, as Roman had put it one evening. 

... 

It was the same evening of a clear night sky, actually. Virgil had practically kicked the door in, screeching out _“Patton, Roman_ , look!” A jolt was sent through Logan’s heart, convinced the small human had found the opening in their house where Logan had made his den. Roman had stood up quickly-- too quickly, as he immediately fell onto the ground. He got up, fell over again, got up, and booked it to the door, unsheathing his sword, yelling wildly the whole time-- “Where is the mighty dragon?! I will slay it for you, Panic! at the Everywhere!” He ran out of the doorway, a brave battle cry escaping his lungs, before he promptly fell down on the wooden stairs. Logan heard Virgil shift to look behind him at the fallen Roman, before the man sighed, annoyed.

“There’s no dragon, Princey.” 

The kitchen door opened just then, and a voice responded, “Well I’d sure hope so, kiddo! The cookies I made sure aren’t _scaled_ for a dragon!” He giggled at his own pun, before Logan heard him audibly gasp, probably because he just noticed Roman was lying on the dirt outside.

“What happened?”

“I have this flower and I really wanted to show it to you guys, but Prin--”

“Black-and-grey-and-purple-all-over _tricked me_ into falling into the dirt by promises of a dragon!”

“I didn’t trick you! I said nothing about a dragon, I just wanted to show you this starflower so you flung yourself out the door and face planted in the mud! Don’t blame your overreaction on _me_!”

Roman gasped dramatically, but Patton intervened, telling them he’d just finished baking gingerbread cookies, which both of them were very fond of, and how it would be nice if they all took ten minutes to just eat the cookies. They simmered down enough to be civil, Roman apologizing, Virgil saying he’d be less dramatic next time-- a piece of sarcasm that whizzed right over Roman’s head and Patton chose to ignore-- and Roman cleaned the mud off of himself. When he came back, Virgil showed them all the starflower. 

Virgil launched into little facts about the flower, how they were perennials, how their seven petals were a gorgeous white color, how he had once seen one with _ten_ petals, how they were his favorite.

That’s the moment it happened. Roman laughed and said that he thought Virgil was adorable when he “nerded out” like this. Before Virgil could retaliate, Roman asked him why they were his favorite, clearly intent on getting him to nerd out once more and prove his companion's point, and Virgil’s train of thought had been derailed as sparks overtook his voice once more and he excitedly said that they always reminded him so much of real stars, unwittingly proving Roman's point how cute Virgil could be.

Logan softened immediately, then froze up when he realized that he had just thought Virgil was being cute. He scolded himself; Virgil wasn't his son or younger brother or friend or even student, and he shouldn't feel so attached.

Nonetheless... he remembered how he used to stargaze every night as a child. How he still did it to feel more normal and less alone some nights. And he softened once more.

Patton interjected, saying how he loved the stars too, and Roman said he knew a few constellations if the others wanted to see. The other two agreed quickly, and the trio left the house.

Logan planned to stay inside. He really did, but it felt wrong to be there without his-- without _the--_ humans, and he still loved the stars. He crawled out of the tunnel, and followed many paces behind the humans as they laid on their backs in the clearing, listening to Roman recite tales of tragedy formed by the stars. Logan wanted to stay and listen, but it would have been a mistake. Roman had left his sword inside, and he didn’t think that the shy botanist or soft baker would have brought out any kind of decent weapon. 

They were out in the mountains, at night, lying on their backs, in the middle of monster territory with no weapons. It was dangerous and stupid, and he cursed the humans internally, wondering how three perfectly capable people could make such a rash choice. 

_Only for the warmth,_ he thought to himself, _only for the warmth_. It became his mantra as he patrolled the house and the surrounding clearing that night.

 _This is strictly, only for the warmth of the fire_ , he thought, as he scared away smaller wolves and bears and any other kind of aggressive animal looking to make trouble.

 _This is only for the warmth of the fire,_ he thought, as he marked his territory around the clearing.

 _This is only for the warmth,_ he tried to tell himself as the snow stopped falling, and the cold left for good.

 _This is only for the warmth,_ he would echo, as he followed Roman when he went out to hunt for the three men.

 _O_ _nly for the warmth,_ as he stayed in the woods, invisible to Virgil but visible to any animal looking to toy with the human.

 _For the warmth,_ as he made sure Patton was never disturbed when tending to his garden. 

* * *

Lying was never Logan’s strong suit. Especially when he had to commit to the lies. Especially when he was lying to himself.

He was harshly reminded of this the hard way, when Patton’s scream had ripped him from restful sleep above the cabin. He immediately crawled as quick as he could out of the tunnel, running madly to the garden. 

His thoughts were frantic. _Should have been awake, should have been awake, why did I sleep in? Patton needed protection, Patton_ needed _protection, why was I_ sleeping _?!_

A magical, crystalline grizzly bear stood towering over the three humans. Patton’s leg was bleeding heavily, claw marks visible along the man’s legs. Virgil supported his friend as Roman stood before them, sword drawn and snarling back at the bear, though unmistakably afraid too. A surge of protectiveness and adrenaline filled Logan’s system as he lunged for the bear. 

_“Is that a wolf?!”_ Roman had screeched out, terrified. Logan opted to ignore the cry, opted to ignore the fear directed at him in his human’s voice-- and no, it had nothing to do with feeling hurt by the fear, Logan told himself-- choosing to instead growl up at the wild beast. He was being so stupid and illogical, and _aw, crap-- emotions,_ he really should not have decided to attack a magical bear with no pack or back up, especially given from its scent that-- _oh, my god. It’s got rabies too._

No, he should have just turned tail and run, run far, far away until the bear got bored and left. Normally, he might have even just left the area immediately to go find a different territory. Especially since he was so close to the full moon. 

That said, emotions had taken control of Logan. Patton moaned in pain, whimpering and writhing in Virgil’s grasp as he sobbed. Anger coursed through Logan’s body. Logan looked behind him, assessing the situation. Virgil had taken off his purple and black hoodie and was pressing it against the claw scratches on Patton’s legs, forcing Patton to grab onto the back of his neck and shoulder for support. Roman grasped the blade in his hands, his steel tight grasp wavering between bear and wolf, looking positively alarmed, as if he couldn’t decide who to kill first. 

_Least he doesn’t know what I really am yet,_ Logan thought hysterically. Still focused elsewhere, the bear took it as an invitation to swipe Logan’s chest with curled claws on plate sized paws. His vision went hazy, but he got back up again, growling, spitting, snarling-- if he could hiss-- he probably would have been hissing too-- the bear ignored him, choosing to advance onto the three very freaked out humans. Even more adrenaline pumped Logan as he tackled the bear’s neck. The bear raised its paws and tried to claw Logan’s off its back, but Logan was quick and feral. He tore mercilessly at the bear’s throat. He clung on for what in reality was fifteen seconds, though it felt like fifteen days, tearing and tearing away. Finally the bear swiped at Logan’s leg, causing pain to rocket down his body, and the bear took Logan’s surprise to launch the wolf onto the ground. Blood was dripping down his mouth, and Logan had the vaguest sense that his ribs were broken. He got back up again, this time clumsier and slower, but planted himself firmly between the bear and his humans-- because _yes,_ they were, in fact, _his._ He let loose a truly insane sounding howl. 

The bear took one look at the crazy wolf, the human with his long and sharp metallic stick, and visibly decided, “Mm, this is some hot bulls××t, and I’m outtie.” Breathing deeply, slightly growling, and bleeding teal and turquoise from the tears in its chest and neck, the beast turned around and lumbered into the forest in pursuit of something that wouldn’t put up such a fight.

Still dazed, pumped of adrenaline, and hazy, Logan thought tiredly to himself, _Oh hell, I should go finish that sucker off before something else happens…_ Stepping forward dizzily, shaking, and in no way near a straight line, Logan took about two and a half steps before falling in a heap on the dirt. Figuratively rubbing salt into the wound? His lupine form gave away, revealing a bloody, tall, incredibly malnourished, mid twenty year old clothed in only a paper thin t-shirt and torn up jeans. 

Somewhere in the back of Logan’s mind where consciousness struggled to maintain itself, a quiet scream mutedly cried out, _Behind you._ He turned his head and saw Roman’s blade, still clutched in an iron grip within his fist. Despite himself, a quiet groan left him, still seeming to match the more animalistic growl he could utter as a wolf more than anything else.

He looked into the sky. It was its deep blue. The sun was still rising.

Logan felt tears prick his eyes.

He was a failure of a werewolf. He wasn’t a well-oiled machine. He was emotional like a person and stupid like a beast. Careless, foolish, soft. He’d made mistake after mistake after mistake in pursuit of joy, even though he knew it was a prize he would never stand to get. An emotional, soft, stupid, and careless werewolf protecting _humans._

So now he was here.

He lay on the ground, dying. Soon to be finished off by the very humans he had become so attached to in their terror and anger at the mere _existence_ of a creature like him near their cabin. And he wouldn’t even be able to see the stars. 

He...

He _deserved_ it.

Tears dripped. His vision blurred. 

No, he didn't feel lucky at all.

_Good... goodbye, universe._

Logan blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey strangers! I really hope you liked my story. Please feel free to leave me comments, they are more than welcome! If you want to interact with me, try my tumblr (rainrainw01)  
> Hope you have an awesome week!  
> \-- Writing01  
> 


	2. Eight - Four - Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan has been captured by the three humans. Wary of what's in store, he comes to find that they are much gentler than what he expected, but that doesn't necessarily lessen the pain they cause him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Logan has a panic attack.

Logan was hardly confused by much anymore. Being a werewolf in such a secluded piece of land could do that to some. He had his habits and his schedule, which were predictable, and as the small piece of world he had chosen to take as his own aged with him, it adjusted to Logan. His own corner carved itself out, and as the most dangerous being in his territory at any given time, things avoided said corner. With no interaction unless Logan chose to initiate, his life ran smoothly, with little variation. Like his habits and his schedule, Logan’s life was predictable.

For Logan, this meant being confused was a confusing experience not only because of whatever was confusing him, but because he was experiencing an emotion he rarely ever experienced; that emotion, of course, being confusion.

For Logan, this meant confusion wasn’t confusion. Confusion was confusion squared.

For Logan, who had just woken with soft fabrics pressed against his body, vaguely smelling of antiseptic and soap, with a dull ache in his torso and left hind leg, confusion squared was abundant, fogging his mind. Logan didn’t like confusion squared. Logan didn’t like _confusion_.

His eyes snapped open, brown irises scanning his setting. 

He was laid on a mattress, surrounded by at least eight pillows on all sides, with fleece and cotton blankets laid over him. He was being literally smothered in what were, if he didn’t know any better, humans’ affections. Before him sat the fireplace, coals glowing faintly.

The room smelled of the cabin. The blankets smelled of the three humans. Looking around, he spotted two armchairs, a rocking chair, and a couch set around the room, most covered in more blankets and pillows. A dining table was set at the other end of the room. He sat up, wincing as the pain slipped into a higher focus at his movements. 

Why on earth was he here? 

Logan had been sure the humans had intended for him to die. It was what most would have done. 

Most realistically, he had expected to be left on the soil, bleeding out and unconscious or simply finished off by a quick stab from Roman’s blade through the chest. Both to put him out of his misery, but more to the point, to protect the humans from any further attack. He and Virgil would usher Patton into the house where they would dress the man’s wounds. Maybe once Logan was dead and Patton had been put to rest for the night, the other two would come out and relocate Logan’s body to the forest where the ugly sight wouldn’t mar the otherwise beautiful landscape. He would rot away, eaten by scavengers, digested by worms, decomposing until all that remained were his bones. The three humans would pack up and move on from the dangerous wilderness, finally understanding that their lives aren’t worth the scenery.

If that wasn’t his fate, then yes, he had guessed that perhaps the humans would take him into their home, but definitely not like this. If they didn’t leave him to die, they would lock him in a cage or a cell where he couldn’t attack them once he awoke. They certainly wouldn’t give him blankets and pillows and warmth, as the only reason to keep a werewolf was to use its body for ingredients in magic, be it spells or potions or anything else. Given that Virgil and Patton had a penchant for plants, he’d expect that they would harvest skin, fur and hair, his claws, gallons of blood, all with the intention of enchanting plants or creating special fertilizer. 

He reached up a hand to his face-- noting with dismay that it was in fact a hand, confirming to Logan that because he was in human form, the three humans knew his exact species-- and rubbed at his eyes. As a bipedal, his eyesight was pretty awful, even worse than most humans’. Having just woken up meant that his vision was even blurrier than usual.

He tugged the first blanket off of him-- colored a light blue with gray cat paws stitched into it-- and readjusted the second blanket-- a weighted purple flannel one-- so it was around his knees, and sat up, needing to assess his injuries. 

He pulled a pajama pant leg up, trying to ignore the small flare of embarrassment that curled in his chest at the idea that the humans had clothed him while he was knocked out, and looked at the leg. Bandages were applied and secured with gauze over the areas the bear had torn into. Looking at it, Logan decided that the area had just been cut into rather than broken. Pesky, painful, but it would more or less heal if Logan was gentle and stayed off of it as much as possible. Given that he lived in the forest with no access to any healing resources and his magic in doctoring was limited, he would probably end up with a permanent limp, but he knew he should be grateful to walk at all.

His ribs were another story. Lifting the soft shirt up, something inside him sank. The skin was bruised, purple and green and blue. Judging by the awful pain that echoed in his body underneath the bruises whenever he tried to breathe, he knew he had broken ribs.

This was bad. If Logan wanted to survive this encounter, he would need to shift into a wolf, find a path of escape, leave without being seen or hurting himself worse, make the trek back to his den in the forest-- all while making sure that damn bear couldn’t find him in his weakened state. He didn't want that thing to find him and take advantage of the situation to have an easy meal.

It was a lot, but Logan was sure he could manage it. 

One step at a time. He just had to go one step at a time.

 _There’s been worse,_ he thought to himself, as he shifted into a sitting position. 

_All I have to do is,_ he clambered to his feet, _make it from here to the door,_ he cringed at the streaks of pain racing up his leg as he put pressure on it, _without being seen--_

A familiar sigh sounded from one of the armchairs. Logan froze. _I am going to_ figuratively _have an aneurysm._ His gaze slid over to the plush brown seat, where what he once believed to be a pile of blankets and pillows moved. 

_May God_ damn _my useless, impaired human vision._

Insane humans. _“Oh yeah,”_ they probably said to each other, _“what if we just left_ Patton _, who is_ severely injured, _in the same room as a strange, unknown, possibly mentally unhinged_ werewolf _with no weapons! This is a good idea.”_

Logan reflexively stepped backwards, wanting to put as much distance between him and Patton as physically possible, before immediately tripping on one of the many pillows the humans had smothered him with, and landing back first on the hard wooden floor. 

He yelped out loud, still feeling like his entire body was a bruise, and the resounding noise woke up Patton. The man bolted upwards, glasses askew on his face, a worn storybook falling to the floor with a clatter. He looked around sharply before noticing Logan crumpled on the floor, foot still tangled up in blankets and pillows. The human blinked before standing up shakily, and limping over to Logan, face scrunched in concern-- 

“Hey there, kiddo, are you oka--?” In an instant, Logan was up, adrenaline flooding his system once more. Quickly and expertly, as if rehearsed, he went for Patton’s wrists, pulling the man close to him, spinning him around, tightening his arms around the man’s chest, and hovering a curved claw over the human’s neck.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway from the bedrooms, quick and rapid at the noises. Just as Logan got Patton hastily positioned in his arms-- body discreetly supporting Patton as to not injure nor hurt him anymore than the soft man already _had_ been-- Roman appeared in the doorway, Logan surprised to see the sword sheathed. 

_Wasn’t Roman sharper than that?_

“I-- uh… wha--?” Logan tightened the grip he had on Patton a little more, communicating to the pair to be quiet without having to use words.

He wore his face a stone mask.

Logan swallowed rising bile, “Take another step,” he began, praying his voice didn’t quake as much as it wanted to, “and I _will_ bite him.” 

Roman spluttered indignantly _(something Virgil dubbed "offended princey noises")_ , eyes melting into a glare. Humans always found the prospect of their loved ones being turned to be especially horrific. It made for a good threat. 

Still taking in the scene, Roman finally found his words. “Let. Him. _Go_.”

Logan pierced Roman with his eyes, face still devoid of any emotion. He cocked his head and his eyes narrowed, as if staring at a test subject that had reacted in an unexpected way to a chemical. “No. You didn't even offer a reason I should. I figuratively hold all the cards here.”

Patton shifted in Logan’s grasp, trying to find a more comfortable position. Logan barely stopped himself from adjusting to be more gentle. “Um, ‘scuse me, Mr. Wolf, you know you don’t have t--”

“Stop talking.” Voice even, he cut Patton off. He didn’t want to hear where the rest of his sentence would lead, knowing every syllable and pause would be laced with fear or disgust or hatred or-- _even worse_ , false kindness and faked empathy. That would hurt an unholy amount, knowing this sweet and loving to a fault person couldn't bring himself to treat Logan with that open compassion. Logan held Patton in regards too high to expect anything less of him, of course, but it burned nonetheless.

And at this moment, he had too little to lose. He couldn’t cut corners or let the human’s words graze at his heart, cutting his resolve. Anything of that nature-- _anything_ , would be enough to get him dead.

“I am leaving now, through the door. This one is my hostage. He will come with me so I know you won’t attack. Failure to comply will result in his turning.”

Patton turned his head slightly to look at Logan, surprising the werewolf enough to do a double take with his gaze. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I’d comply if I could, but I can’t really walk on this leg too well.” 

Logan blinked. Had Patton _really just_ apologized as if he _wasn’t_ being held hostage by a literal monster in his own home? How on earth had he made it this far? Logan shook the thought away. He had to deal with the actual context of Patton’s words, not the manner he’d spoken them in-- which-- how _was_ Logan going to do this? _Could_ he even do this? He didn’t see a simple way to move the soft human without hurting him more, which would be very counterproductive to Patton’s healing, but maybe if he carried the man bridal sty--

Roman took a small step forward, hands raised up in the air to show vulnerability-- _Logan took too long to think._ Roman knew that he wouldn’t have the guts to hurt Patton “Listen, _it’s okay,_ please. Jus--”

He was cut off by the door to the main entrance swinging open, Virgil standing in the doorway, carrying a bundle of firewood. The young man took in the scene before him, blinking owlishly, and then spoke out carefully, “Hey guys. Um-- you all know I _hate_ to interrupt, but nonetheless, I really gotta ask: _what the fu_ \--?”

 _Escape_. 

Logan took the opportunity to swiftly move his arms around the bend of Patton’s knees-- picking him up easily despite how his ribs and legs still pained, to toss him at Roman, trusting the athletic man to catch him. 

He charged Virgil. Virgil yelped out, hugged the wood to his chest, and pressed himself into the door, eyes closed tight as Logan raced past him. 

Logan focused on running. On ignoring the pain, on ignoring the humans shouting out after him. _Run to the forest. Focus on running to the forest._ Absentmindedly, he wondered if he should he go to his den. If they found him, he would truly have nowhere. So not to the den. Where then? _Didn’t really matter._ Just had to get away.

He entered the forest. He stopped to rest after what felt like decades of running, hoping beyond hope that the burning would stop. He sank to his knees, hands on the forest floor, shoulders sagging as he gasped for breath, over and over and over again.

He wanted beyond want to shift back into his wolf, but he knew he couldn’t. Not when he was too close to be safe. The humans would surely kill him, especially because of the stunt he’d just pulled back at the cabin. Just to spite them, to spite every human who had ever tried to kill him for being a monster-- hell, _even just_ to spite whatever force was at play in deciding his fate, Logan wouldn’t shift back. 

They could track him, torture him, kill him, but Logan would die without giving the humans the option to take his corpse apart and use it for personal materialistic gain.

As attached to them as he'd grown, he couldn't let himself stoop so low in his dignity where he'd literally give them his body to take apart. He wasn't a puppy, he was a werewolf, goddammit, and werewolves are cunning creatures who don't toss all sense of self-preservation out the metaphoric window just because a few humans are... _quirky. The Giving Tree_ is straight bulls××t, and Logan likes to think he has enough drive left not to dissolve like a depressed apple tree with an inferiority complex and soft spot for spoiled little boys who could never learn to love such lesser creatures as apple trees and werewolves.

Ah. Maybe he did have a little bit of an inferiority complex.

Still on the forest floor resting, Logan was hit with exhaustion. He hadn’t even realized, but the wounds were numbed, if a little itchy. He shakily got to his feet, but as soon as he tried to let go of the ground, gravity claimed him and he sprawled to the dirt.

He lay like that, unable to move or get up, wishing he would just stop existing because the pain was too great. He shut his eyes and prayed for an escape. Before long he’d faded out from the waking world.

He was awoken by raindrops hitting his face. The pain was amplified, but a little bit of his energy was back. Still humanoid, he crawled to the nearest pine. He lay under its thick canopy, satisfied to just lie there.

Logan spent an indeterminable, unknown amount of time under the leafy shade. He was hazy and tired, blood loss chipping away at his higher functions.

Swinging loosely in and out of consciousness, Logan waited to die.

Instead, something worse happened.

Logan blinked, and suddenly, one of the humans had appeared from thin air. He cocked his head curiously as he lay on the ground, and squinted up at the figure.

“Salutations, human. I am afraid my vision isn’t the best, especially now. Which one are you?” Logan closed his eyes. The only reason to keep them open was to be on the lookout for the humans to make sure he wasn’t caught-- and, well… 

He heard the human shift and crouch down to his level. “I’m Roman. Roman Prince. You probably recognize my voice.” He paused, but when Logan offered nothing, he cleared his throat, and offered a nudge-- “And that makes your name…?” 

“The one named Patton called me Mr. Wolf.”

There was a quick but small intake of breath. 

The humans seemed hesitant to speak.

“Do you… do you have a name?”

“Of course I do. Just because I choose not to share it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Right, of course, I apologize, I didn’t mean to offen--” he stopped himself. Starting again a moment later, “If you don't get your wounds treated or transform, you’ll bleed out and die.”

Logan managed a hoarse laugh. “You're persistent in your efforts.” It was a good try on the human's part, but he wasn’t so naïve. 

“Listen to me, I am being serious. You will die.”

“I know you’re being serious, and I know I will die. But if I listen to you, I will die anyway, yes?”

“Well yeah, we all die--” Logan rolled his eyes underneath his lids; the human knew what he meant to convey, “but you don’t have to die now.”

Logan said nothing. Roman waited with an air of expectancy.

The human sighed. “Listen, when you panicked before…” The human shifted again. “I’m going to pick you up now, and the two of us are going back to the house. We won’t hurt you. I promise. We don’t want to hurt you at all. We just want to help you.”

Logan managed a disdainful, unbelieving snort. Roman leaned in despite. Logan’s eyes shot open and he bared his teeth in an angry snarl. Roman eyed him and smiled as if to say, _“Heh, you think you scare me.”_

Then he wrapped one arm around Logan’s stiff shoulders, the other arm at his knees, and pulled him out from underneath the tree. He stood up, swiftly and fluidly, and Logan cursed the man’s strength. 

He twitched in Roman’s embrace, so he stilled. “Sorry Professor Lupin, but in order for this to work, you’re gonna have to calm down so I don’t drop you. We’ll get back home in a little bit, and then you can squirm around to your heart’s desire.”

Logan said nothing. Roman didn’t wait this time, choosing to just go back to the cabin, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he was carrying around a ferocious monster with its mouth half a foot _(at most!)_ away from his neck.

What a foolish human. Acting as if Logan wouldn’t just sink his considerably large-- even when he _chose_ to look human-- teeth into Roman’s neck like pudding. Logan mused, he knew slang for a situation like that: “ _bye bye, trachea.”_

So what made Roman trust the odds like this? What made Roman so positive he wasn’t about to die?

He thought aimlessly, for once not really caring. The blood loss was really doing a number on him.

Suddenly, realization smacked Logan’s brain. _Of course_ Roman knew he was safe. He knew he was safe because Logan had demonstrated over and over again that he wouldn’t harm the humans. He’d shown them all he was ready to die for their safety, had shown that even when it would benefit him to harm Patton that he hadn’t, was showing now, that being taken back against his wishes tucked next to one of the most vulnerable spots on a human, he wouldn’t kill the human, even though it would mean his survival.

He was sure Roman didn’t understand why Logan was acting this way. The information would be benign to Roman if he knew in any case. It was benign to Logan too, at this point, yet his brain was stuck on it, not unlike the way Roman seemed intent on keeping Logan. 

The thing was, Logan's affection for his humans was affecting all his actions. He still excessively cared for them, and it was abundantly clear through every choice he'd made when it had come to them.

He'd stop if he could, he'd claw at Roman and growl and run far away until he could never be heard from again, but he couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't bring himself to hurt such lovely humans.

Pathetic.

Logan still loved his humans. Still yearned for them, still wanted them to live and be happy and see the stars and each other. Maybe Logan’s fate had been sealed the second he’d been bitten, but the little pack of humans still had the potential to be content and joyous. Logan wanted that for them. Logan wanted Patton to see his garden reap all the hard work he had put in, to open a bakery selling all the delicious pastries and goods the man was so adept at putting together. Logan wanted Roman to follow his dreams, mastering dueling and releasing his album and singing professionally for crowds of fans, his name known. Logan wanted Virgil to learn and document and teach everything plant-related, knowing the young human was passionate and knowledgeable and clever and could do it if he tried. Logan wanted it all, and he no matter how he denied it, he was willing to sacrifice himself in order to get the humans on the path he saw for them.

Logan was truly terrible at being a werewolf. 

After only several minutes-- Logan hadn’t run far at all, it seemed-- Roman approached the clearing where their cabin lay. Logan immediately tensed in Roman’s hands, knowing the treatment he would soon be on the receiving end of would be much less gentle, would be much more torturous and painful, and given how he was feeling like an overly attached puppy, not just physically.

Roman felt the beast stiffen and looked down at his face, with a comforting lopsided smile. “Hey now, Jacob Black,” he started, “I know you’re… apprehensive, but take it from me, big guy, just hurts more if you’re scared.”

Logan averted his eyes from the cabin, choosing to stare up at the trees that passed the duo by. Although Roman still looked down at him with a concealed hint of worry from the corner of his vision, Logan stared right past his face blankly, not unlike a person trying to observe the sun without being blinded from staring the star dead-on.

 _Hurts more if you’re scared…_ Logan echoed the words condescendingly in his head. How dare this human act as if he truly cared about the werewolf in the same breath, _the same words,_ he threatened him with violence and pain. 

Tears built up in his eyes. He wouldn’t dare let them slip. Not when one of his attackers and oppressors stared him down in a mockery of care and concern. Not when Roman was being kinder and gentler and more humane than he had any reason to be, especially given what he and his real family had in store for Logan. Not when Logan knew if he let himself melt, he’d dissolve into a puddle of Stockholm's syndrome. Not when Logan knew he was already at that point.

He could feel himself down the path of giving his humans his allegorical tree trunk. 

Just like that goddamn apple tree.

He wouldn’t dare cry. He was fortunate to exist, fortunate to be treated so well by his dissectors, fortunate to be taken hostage by such kind people. No, he wouldn’t cry at all.

Soon the leaves hanging above them disappeared, and the sky and the (real) sun appeared and Logan averted his gaze once more. They were walking across the clearing.

Despite himself, he looked up to see the other two on the porch of their home, sitting together on the stairs. Virgil’s eyes dug into the dirt a few feet in front of him, his left leg bouncing madly as if he’d downed several gallons of straight caffeine. Patton’s hands were curled around his, cheery disposition gone, though he still occasionally rubbed Virgil’s back soothingly despite the evident anxiety bubbling inside him as well.

As the sounds of Roman’s footsteps approached and became more clear, the two men looked up, relief smoothing out their features, Virgil even going as far to stand up and begin rushing forwards as Logan looked down, embarrassed they’d probably seen him watching. 

“Roman!” Patton cried out, hastily getting to his feet despite the pain it seemed to entrench his voice in.

“Princey, how’s he looki…” Virgil’s voice faded out as Logan’s vision darkened out of seemingly nowhere, starting around the edges, moving to the center fuzzily.

His eyes rolling to the back of his head, Logan’s final thoughts before unconsciousness finally dug her claws into his skull were, _Aw hell, I think I’m gonna fain--_

* * *

A shuddering gasp slipped from his mouth before he was even semi-awake.

The first thing he started to notice was that he was back on the mattress, back under an unsanctioned amount of blankets and pillows, back in the dreaded cabin.

The second thing was that he felt soft and warm; he noted how he could feel bandages on his torso and leg, and he idly began to think back to the last hunter he’d dealt with. The bastard was in a long line of humans who had tried less generous measures with the wolf. More often than not, their treatment included traps; bullets; threats that if he didn’t come willingly, Logan’s end would be as painful as it could be.

These humans apparently believed that if they took a kinder approach, he’d be more accepting of his fate, and subsequently, put up less of a fight. It was an admittedly clever tactic.

The third thing he noticed was a voice that had probably been speaking for a while, “--kay? Dude, seriously, dude?!”

On the last note, Logan’s eyes snapped to the human, his senses done flooding him. 

Virgil stood hesitantly before a chair he’d just gotten up from, his eyes tracing Logan’s face to discern his condition. “Hey, buddy?” His voice was softer now, seeing that Logan had made a facial response.

Logan opened his mouth indignantly, about to say that he wasn’t Virgil’s buddy, but… he choked. He tried to clear his throat, his chest beginning to pound in what was shaping up to feel like a heart attack, but he couldn’t breathe. _He was dying._

Hysterically, somewhere in the back of his mind, Logan’s brain spat back out at him the mocking thought that at least he was going to die before the humans got to him, though it was swept up in an absolute hurricane of nausea, panic, and building terror.

Air shot through lungs, deep and quick, but Logan still couldn’t breathe. 

The human grabbed his wrist, and Logan violently flinched back, removing all contact between the two as he kept gasping for air, tears falling from his eyes at great pace. 

He was going to die, he was going to die, _he was going to die._

His thoughts grew and twisted and thrashed his skull and spun and spiraled mounting to reach a steady climax until--

“--hale for four seconds, come on, Stranger, focus on me, focus on my voice, please, just listen, just listen…” Logan’s eyes flicked up lazily to meet Virgil’s.

Virgil smiled encouragingly, but stayed a safe distance from the werewolf, Logan’s brain whispering that the human probably feared him, “I need you to breathe with me, okay? We are going to breathe out for eight seconds, inhale for four, and hold for seven, okay? Stranger, come on, I know you can do this-- just follow me.” 

Virgil began, letting a steady stream of carbon dioxide leave him, his eyes crinkled at the edges kindly. He nodded to Logan as he let out a long but shaky breath too. Virgil put a thumbs up and the two inhaled, smelling the sugar-infested air. They held for seven. 

They repeated the exercise for a while until Logan had found his heart had slowed, his mind had cleared, and the rolling waves of panic were gone.

After several minutes of silence between the duo, Logan looked into his lap, fingers stroking the soft cotton smoothly.

Virgil spoke finally. “That was good, guy. I’m really… I’m really proud of you. I know panic attacks suck, but you handled it really well.”

The words escaped him without his permission. “Thank you for being so…” his voice trailed away. 

The normally snarky and sarcastic human was quiet, offering Logan a shy but sweet smile.

He stared down at the sheets. He noticed a small splotch of water on the blanket. His fingers instinctively reached for his cheeks, already knowing they too would come away wet.

Even though the saltwater had already begun to dry, Logan scrubbed at his face angrily. He was weak.

“I-- uh, hey there, man. Come now, it’s okay, it’s okay.” 

It wasn’t okay. Everything was so far from okay.

Virgil stood up from where he’d been sitting on the floor across from Logan, and retrieved a small kit of supplies from the table. He came back and set it between the two. Logan eyed it warily.

“Listen, I know how disoriented you must be right now. Hell, if I was in your spot I’d be.. well, I’d be confused, to start, and probably really unhappy with life, and anxious to boot. I can’t really understand how you’re feeling, but I know you don’t feel good.

“I have to check your injuries. We’ve been watching over you to make sure someone could be there for you when you woke up, to reassure you and make sure you’re getting better from where you are now. I will leave you alone as soon as I’m done-- assuming you want me to-- but right now, I really have to redress your wounds. I know you probably don’t want me to touch you, but I promise-- _I promise_ to be as gentle as I can, alright?”

Logan said nothing, knowing the human would do as he pleased anyway. 

“I am going to touch you now, I promise to be quick.” 

Logan closed his eyes and accepted what he knew was going to come. His stomach twisted itself into a knot anyway.

He always hated the sight of his own blood.

* * *

Virgil closed the kit, neatly setting unused gauze, cotton balls, bandages, alcohol and antiseptic into the little wooden box. He closed it, and gave Logan a light smile.

“My name is Virgil Knight, by the way.” _I know._

A small laugh escaped him, and with a crinkle at the corners of his eyes, he fondly began to reminisce.

“I was adopted by this librarian, Thomas. He was reading Dante’s Inferno and decided Virgil would be a nice name for me. Since graduating high school last year--” _he can't be more than nineteen, still just a pup-- “_ I’ve actually been liking my name a lot more. It’s easy to appreciate it when people don’t make jokes about me being a virg--” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I have no idea why Thomas chose Knight. Maybe he just wanted to confuse me as I grew up.

“You don’t have to tell me your name yet. I’m sure Ro’s already asked you, but you can rest assured that there’s no rush.” 

There was a silent moment between the two. Logan felt a little surprised to find that it wasn’t unpleasant.

"You know, most of the time, I’m really anxious about being around other people and having to make talk, but… you were really bearable.”

Logan visibly struggled for words, his voice finally making its way out his throat in a rasp, “Did you just tell a-- did you just tell a play-on-words?”

Virgil blinked. “I guess I did…?” He shook his head, “You know what, that’s beside the point-- I was trying to say something about you having a calming presence and how for some reason, I feel safe with you even though I saw you half murder a berserk magical bear like six times your size, but it’s probably a redundant statement now.”

Virgil shrugged awkwardly. “Patton has been going on for the past three days about wanting to see you and visit you and feed you cookies, but I will try to make sure he doesn’t overwhelm you too much today,” he stood up, stretching, grabbing the kit and moving to set it back on the table, “that said,” his voice took a much more serious note, “he is _hellbent_ on mother-henning you, and I can’t hold him for very long. Expect a large influx of cookies, Stranger.” 

Virgil nodded solemnly and exited through the front door, leaving an incredibly confused Logan in his wake.

He felt… _shocked_ , to be frank with himself.

Virgil had truly been satisfied simply taking off all bandages, cleaning his wounds, reapplying medicine, and securing new bandages in place. No teeth, blood, hair, fingers. No demands he shift into a wolf for Virgil to harvest fur or claws or his tail from.

Virgil was a bright young man. Even if he didn’t study magic, botany overlapped many times with the practice, and it was more or less impossible that he didn’t know some of what Logan’s parts could offer, being a werewolf-shifter. 

Logan felt a little less stressed, though a little more anxious, finally knowing just what the humans wanted to take of him. 

They wanted his pelt. His skin and his fur and all it’s magical properties. If his flesh wounds were healed and his pain thresholds weren’t tested very much, the pelt could offer much more than if they skinned him now.

The new moon had passed a little less than half a week ago, he had more than twenty or so days to make a plan of escape.

They’d give it their all to force him to transform before the next full moon, he was sure of this as they probably hated having a monster lying on their floor, using up their medical supplies. That said, if Logan was anything second to a werewolf, he was a clever, stubborn bastard. He wouldn’t transform for them at all, even if it meant being forced under the full moon at the end of his month so Mother Nature herself could peel away the façade and reveal to all the wolf in human's skin.

No, Logan Sharpe would stay humanoid until either his escape, or his bitter end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this chapter at four AM, "slept" for an hour and a half, "woke up" at six AM, edited it for thirty minutes, and now I'm getting ready to post it at at least eight AM, so if this chapter might have been a little messy, and I am genuinely sorry. I will be editing it heavily, but decided to post this guy since in the moment, it sounds like decent writing, and it's been four days since my last update. Everything is funny and it feels like there's a little demon in my skull trying to forcefully make my eyeballs pop out of the socket, and oh boy do I wish I didn't have insomnia. ;-;
> 
> As always, feel free to leave me comments and if you want to interact with me, try my tumblr (rainrainw01)
> 
> Normally, I try to have a schedule to my posted works, but I am too stressed for that, so what happens happens and you have to suffer with me. Thanks for reading, and I hope you have an awesome week, strangers.  
> \-- W01


	3. Double Standard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan has existential crises and mental breakdowns. It's not pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: food, telling a teenager to eat more food

The week after that day where he’d run off, Logan had been barely conscious. The humans had brought up small doses of over the counter healing potion. Still not understanding why they’d waste a resource like that on him, he took it at their request anyway, and slept through entire days. He had a theory that they just wanted him to heal quickly so they could get rid of him faster, and that since the healing potion left him incapacitated, they gave it to him to take care of the two problems easier than otherwise.

Perhaps on the ninth day of his stay, they weaned him off of it.

It was an emotionally conflicting time for Logan. Normally, the guy didn’t make it a habit to dabble in emotions as such things were a quick way to die, but given the circumstance when his death was more or less sealed by the end of the month, he’d make an exception-- _as long as_ he remained logical and as unbiased as he could in his emotional processing. 

Sure, at first glance, one might _say_ that emotions and logic have little to do with each other, but Logan knew better. Emotion is a type of logic after all, just one where the reasoning is more often than not apparent after the conclusion. Working backwards from emotion to reasoning, Logan figured he could adjust how he viewed the situation and thus adjust how he _felt_ about the situation.

Easy. What could go wrong?

To make this task less grueling and less-- well, _feelingsy,_ he cunningly stole (read: slowly reached for and took while staring Patton dead in the eyes much in the way a cat pushing a glass of water off of a desk does to a human) two sheets of blank paper and a pen Roman had been planning to use for his writing, and wrote out the following list of his emotions on his second day of healing, while sitting before the humans’ fireplace:

  * sad
  * confusion^2
  * resigned
  * sad (again)



…

  * happy?



He shook his head irritably. No, he wasn’t happy at all. Why would Logan be happy with this situation? 

…

Yeah, he knew why…

He sighed discontedely and clicked the pen to its sheathed state. Pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin over them, ignoring the ache it brought up in his leg to stretch like that, he gazed into the bright flames. 

He’d observed the smoke of this very fire not very long ago, billowing from the chimney. He has watched so sorrowfully, perched on a freezing hill in a freezing world. The way watching had hurt so badly inside... he hadn’t really understood it back then. 

Then again, when he’d come closer, when he’d been almost directly above where he sat now, he’d done it again with the observing. The way he listened to the… _lovely_ fire. And it _was_ lovely, he’d known that intrinsically. Yes, though he couldn’t _look at_ the fire, he could still _see_ its light; though he believed he could never interact with the fire, he knew its worth. 

How worthy it was to light up the clearing, to help him stay alive. To help him _want to_ stay alive. It really took something powerful and all inclusive to make creatures from any walks of life feel that.

He hadn’t really understood it back then.

And now he was here. Before the fire, gazing at it fully, feeling its warmth embrace his skin and sink into his once frigid bones. And he was right before, Logan confirmed this now. The fire was lovely, lovable, loving, loved. 

The fire _was_ love. 

And that fills him with feelings most unpleasant.

  * _fear_
  * _hopelessness_



… 

  * _loneliness_



The emotion bubbles up inside of him. The tip of the pen hovers uncertainly above the paper. Then it flies across the sheet.

  * _dissatisfaction_
  * _alienation_
  * _anxiety_
  * _existential terror_
  * _unwanted_
  * _unneeded_
  * _useless_
  * _broken_
  * _false_
  * _empty_
  * _gone_



He stands abruptly, away from the fire, pain racing his still injured body, the pen falling to the floor with an ugly clatter. How much he wanted to experience the flames in all their glory and beauty. How he longed for it. Now he’s got that experience. And it’s everything. _Oh God, it’s literally everything._

So why does it burn? Why does it hurt so much? Why does it make him feel so overwhelmed-- why does it make him feel everything? Why does it make him feel so numb-- why does it make him feel nothing? This fire is so all-encompassing, and despite being there, despite being present, Logan’s still gone. 

He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone. 

A goner. 

He’s nothing but a goner.

Doomed to always be on the outside, doomed to only observe and never be a part, he’ll always be apart. If the fire is everything, has always been everything, and his life has always been so cold, will always _be_ cold until this last month is up, will always be cold if he manages to escape; _if the fire is everything--!_

… 

If the fire is everything, and Logan will live have lived his life without fire--

He drops to the knees before the flames. He stares into them.

Numbed, he grabs the papers. Only one’s got anything written on it. It’s not even a quarter written on one side.

He tosses it into the fire. 

So little. It’s so little.

He stands up and walks to the mattress lying several yards away on the ground. He faceplants onto it.

No fire for Logan. Fires for Logan only bring unhappiness anyway.

Fires are everything, and fires are his opposite. 

Logan’s not love.

Logan’s not anything.

Logan’s nothing.

He wakes a few hours later to Roman quietly shuffling past him to retrieve the pen, still on the floor before the fire. 

He sits up and stares at the dramatic man, stares head on, stares into the sun, the burning star.

All Roman does is smile kindly, seeming unbothered by the carelessly discarded pen. 

Logan blinks.

He can't see very well.

* * *

  
  


Logan fell asleep like that. Lying on the mattress, unmoving after that incident. He’s aware of this fact because when he wakes up next, he’s still in that same position. 

Well, almost.

Pulling a knitted blanket off of himself, he wonders who tucked him in.

He grasps his knees and stares at a wall blankly, determinedly not focusing on the fire and its warmth.

He rubs at his temples and audibly groans at the pounding headache assaulting him. 

There’s a polite cough behind him. He presses the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, trying to squish away his vision. _Why must these bastardly humans always show up when I am in the midst of a mental breakdown?_

Instead of voicing his thoughts out loud, he sighs in exasperation, “Were you just watching me sleep? That’s very creepy behavior.”

Patton awkwardly chuckles, “I-- uh, yeah. I-- I was. I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”

Logan laughs mirthlessly. “Trust me, human. Haven’t I shown that you can trust me, over and over again?” 

Disgusted, he stands up and starts to tidy up the mattress, folding the blue blanket first.

Logan hears Patton’s sharp intake of breath, and guilt crawls into his throat like an angry toad. Though he’s failed every expectation of the werewolf species, it’s certainly not any fault of this abnormally kind man. If anything, he was displaying his intelligence by monitoring Logan. 

Really, he has to stop taking this kind of thing so personally. It isn’t.

_That’s a lie._

Patton rouses him from his thoughts by shuffling over and folding up the purple blanket alongside him. A silence falls over the pair as they tidy the area. 

They set the blankets and pillows in stacks on the couch and prop up the mattress on a wall. For the sake of one creature’s comfort, it’s a lot of work. Really, not just for the interspecies divide, but for logic’s sake, Logan should really be in a cage.

He sighs and sits on the floor, staring into space.

Patton tugs at his fingers, still standing before the neat pile of bedding.

“I--”

Logan spares a glance up at him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Logan blinks uncomprehendingly.

_What didn’t he mean?_

“Hm?”

“About… not wanting to leave you alone. When I said that, I meant that I didn’t want you to feel lonel--” he exhales, “I-- I don’t know what I meant, I’m sorry, I’m talking too much again.” He idly swings his foot up a little, “Everyone back home always said I say too many things too much and that I should-- uh,” he laughs painfully, _“y’know,_ recognize when I need to shut up and stop making a fool of myself.”

He clears his throat. Logan realizes shame dusts Patton’s tanned face with a smattering of blush.

“I’m doing it again. I’m sorry; I’ll just go--” He turns to leave, hastily making his way to the nearest exit.

Logan doesn’t realize he’s said a thing until Patton fully stops and turns around, guiltily tugging at his fingers and eyeing the ground, “It’s okay,” he softly replies to whatever Logan apparently said, “I know I’m kind of… _really_ annoying and I know that I’ve been offensive. You don’t have to pretend for my sake.”

He forces another laugh and sheepishly says, “I’m a big boy now and everything!” He adds in a dejected mumble, “I can handle that I kinda suck.” 

Logan realizes with dawning horror that Patton is crying. He abruptly stands and instinctually limps to the other man as quickly as his injured leg will allow, and uses the long sleeve of his right arm to carefully wipe the tears off Patton’s face, subsequently pushing his glasses up a little bit to expose his brown eyes. 

_((Echoing in the back of his head, Logan acknowledges that he will one hundred percent undoubtedly have another existential crisis at four AM that night centering on how he’s imprinted on these humans like a puppy because of his severe starvation for any kind of positive attention and love, and how it’s very messed up that they are also the people that are going to kill him, and how badly that reflects on him. He’s got issues.))_

Gripping Patton’s shoulders lightly, Logan guides him to the couch and sits him down, running fingers through his straight hair and brushing away tears the whole time. 

Later, Roman and Virgil will reflect on the strangeness of the situation. Having just finished a two hour long part-debate / part-wrestling match in the clearing about if straws can be considered a hole, and what that says about donuts, and if a donut is just a _really_ messed up straw, they were thoroughly and utterly exhausted. So exhausted in fact, that they hadn’t said _a word_ on the way from the backdoor through the kitchen to the living room, rendering them essentially silent to anyone else in the house. Anyone else in the house, of course, meaning the preoccupied pair on the couch. 

They stood in the doorway, watching their pokerfaced-werewolf-stranger wiping tears from Patton otherwise lovingly as no one said a word, before turning around and leaving from where they came, mutually deciding not to break up the moment. They'd go elsewhere. 

Still on the couch, Patton finally calmed his sobs down enough to speak, “Th-- thank you. I don’t kn-- know why you’re being so--” he swallowed tears, “--nice, to me, but thank you.” 

Logan released his grip on Patton and stared directly ahead at a wall again. Idly, he realizes this is the first time he’s used any of the furniture in the house before. 

After a few moments of quiet punctuated only by Patton desperately trying to shove his emotions back into the bottle from which they’d exploded from, Logan tentatively asked, “I don’t mean to be insensitive with a question, or to step out of line, but I would like to ask you about something nonetheless.” 

Oblivious to Logan, Patton jumped at the opportunity to have something to focus on, “Go for it.”

“I-- I perhaps incorrectly assumed that you didn’t trust me, hence why you were observing me, and I was… bitter. Though given your reaction just now, I'd say this was an incorrect assumption?”

“Logan, I’m really sorry, I know that you’ve already done so much for us and I didn’t mean to make you feel alienated just because you’re not hum--” Patton cut himself off quickly, burying his head in his hands.

“‘M sorry. I know I shouldn’t bring that up.”

Logan stared at Patton quizzically, confusion squared rising once more in him, “Because I’m not human?” Patton winced. “What do you mean? Why shouldn't you bring that up?”

Patton wipes at his face, taking a moment.

“I feel like it’s… _wrong”_ he started, “to define people by one characteristic just because society tells us to…” 

Logan cocked his head curiously. 

Patton looked at him, bit his lip, and then turned away in thought, trying to formulate the right words to deliver his message.

“I advocate for trans rights, for example,”

Logan nodded along, “That’s an important thing to advocate for.”

“I agree. I feel like a lot of the time, along with basic human rights and the freedom to transition without fear of persecution and all that, we overlook dignity, and privacy, and all those other smaller parts that might not be as _practically_ important as the right to accessible hormones or pieces of life in that vein, but just as essential to being happy. Do you know what I mean?” Patton searched Logan’s eyes. 

Opia prickled within him. He wondered if Patton felt it too. He tore his gaze away, unable to handle it any longer, “I suppose. Like on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, though accessible hormones are more foundational, and dignity and privacy sit further away from the baselines, all of it is a piece in leading a satisfying life?”

The skin around Patton’s eyes crinkled in a smile at the mutual understanding, “Yeah. What I’m saying is, we shouldn’t overwhelm and fill conversation with trans people about their transgenderism in a demeaning or dehumanizing way because that’s an unchangeable part of their identity. It’s just wrong to define someone by one piece of them, especially negatively, especially when it’s a permanent piece of them.”

Logan murmured an agreement.

“I feel like this society that I come from, that I think you _came_ from, tells everyone within it to ostracize… the ones it doesn't like. And it tells us to do that in part by perpetuating subtle discrimination against the marginalized people, so their surviving it would become that much harder. _Microaggressions.”_

Patton stared into the still burning fireplace.

“People argue that various microaggressions aren’t that bad.” He chuckled mirthlessly, “Obviously those people are usually either perpetuating the microaggressions or lack basic empathy. Because ‘Love and Belongingness’ is one of the tiers on that hierarchy, and microaggressions are just another small way the common man can police his community to keep classist discrimination in place.”

Logan took in the information, silently impressed by Patton’s compassion driven outlook on life, though admittedly very lost about how that correlated to him.

Patton smiled bashfully, realizing he’d just info dumped everywhere, “I’m saying that I-- I don’t really know what is or isn’t offensive to werewolves, but I figured acting and speaking in a way that could come across like I’m defining you solely based on your werewolfism wasn’t very… _good_ of me.”

Patton studied his hands and mumbled guiltily, “I feel like that’s all I’ve done this entire time I’ve known you. I understand why you’d think I don’t trust you.” 

“But you’re right not to,” Logan found himself insisting, “Do you believe I was bitter because I was upset at you for not trusting me? That's not true; I'm-- I'm bitter because I've--” he cut himself off, turning away from Patton. 

“You’ve what?” Patton asked softly.

It was Logan’s turn to feel the shame inside of him boil over. He felt it threaten to silence his voice. 

“Since you’ve known me, all I’ve done is give you reason to trust me,” he weakly mumbled, “I'm subpar at being a werewolf.” 

“You… you’re upset because you feel like being trustworthy to us, otherwise known as saving us and helping us at the expense of yourself, is _wrong_ for you to do because…?”

“Because that’s not what werewolves _do._ _Doing_ what I did was bad. _Sacrificing myself_ was bad.”

His voice still threatening to crack from the weight of held back sobs, Patton gave a short little manic giggle, looping an arm around Logan. 

Logan almost flinched at the contact before melting into the solidness and warmth of it, the safety and shelter and-- _oh God, when was the last time he’d felt the non aggressive touch of anyone?_

“Oh buddy-- sacrificing yourself the way you did for us wasn’t bad. It was good. _You’re_ good.”

Logan shot Patton a look, “I wasn’t supposed to do that. I should’ve just--”

“--let us get mauled and eaten by that bear?” 

Logan didn’t answer. He was torn between saying yes, because then he would have acted as he should’ve, and saying no, because if he hadn’t done what he did, his humans would have died. 

Patton seemed to read his mind. “Do you think you could make an easier answer if you were human?”

“I-- yes, because humans are supposed to act the way I did, but I’m not a hu--!” 

“What makes you so different from a human-- _aside_ from biology? Ethically, morally, psychologically: is there anything werewolves are that humans aren’t, or vice versa?”

A beat of silence.

“Aren’t you holding yourself to a double standard?”

Logan struggled to grasp an answer that could satisfy the question.

Patton rubbed Logan’s arm soothingly as he stood up to go.

* * *

Logan had been reading all day. After the conversation with Patton, his brain had been fried. He was drained. 

That had been around noon, and judging by the tantalizing smells wafting through the cracks in the doorway to the kitchen, it was almost suppertime. He must have been reading for hours.

Frankly though, he had good reason.

For the past eighteen years of his life since he’d been turned, his place in the chain was the only thing he was ever sure about. And Patton had come and broken that down for him completely in the span of one conversation. And if Patton was right about Logan, which Logan feared to be the case, that meant two thirds of his life had been led through a morbid security founded on a lie. And soon he’d die. So what the hell did it matter anyway?

Andronitis for his humans combined with ellipsism to a nonexistent possibility of seeing them grow up filled him with such a fatigue. 

So with nothing else to do but think, he sheepishly asked Roman if he could read one of the books he’d brought with him. Roman complied smilingly, saying he’d love to help Logan entertain himself while his wounds all healed up.

Pouring through the pages, he’d lost track of time easily, letting the words swim through his eyes. Though his vision still was certainly awful, if he squinted and held the book away from his face, he could make out the words.

Hours passed. A polite cough sounded from behind him. Logan closed the book carefully and diverted his attention to the human.

Roman smiled crookedly at him, “Do you like reading?”

Logan fidgeted awkwardly, not expecting to be put on the spot, “I enjoy it very much. I had a few books back at my den from humans who had dropped or forgotten them; I find that the activity calms me down. I assume you favor it as well?”

Roman shrugged and took a seat next to Logan on the living room floor, leaning against the wall companionably. “It’s not my favorite thing to do, but if there’s a story I _really_ like, I can burn up days just reading.”

Logan nodded, knowing the feeling. He used to distract himself with those stolen books on days where prey was scarce. The stories could never drive out the loneliness or the hunger, but they could distract him from it. On those awful, cold nights where Logan was sure he’d be dead in hours if he couldn’t hunt something quickly, reading brought solace, and resignation was forced back in favor of distraction. 

Even just then, he’d only been marginally aware of the tempting scents from the kitchen because of Roman’s stories.

Roman shook him from his thoughts-- “Hey, uh, I don’t want to be invasive, but I was wondering, were you just having trouble reading just now?”

Logan blushed, and bit his lip, “I-- yes. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no no no, it’s okay. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I was asking because Patton brought up some of his old glasses in case he lost his current ones while we’re up here. I don’t know if they’ll help too much, but I’m sure Pat would let you try them and keep them if they work for you!”

Logan had started shaking his head before Roman was even finished, “I’m okay, please--”

“Nonsense! You’ll strain yourself reading like that, it’s no bother. Come here--” Roman playfully grabbed his hand and hauled him up off the floor, “dinner’s about to start anyway! You can ask him over the meal!”

Logan paled, dread in his chest. He knew they’d probably feed him leftovers but the idea of being forced to sit at the table with them while they ate, waiting for them to finish so he could have what little was left made him feel so unpleasant inside. It’d be a hot seat. 

He almost _wished_ his body was still so injured that he still had to take that dreadful potion. If he slept through this part of the night, he wouldn’t have to deal with a sit-down-dinner.

He opened his mouth to protest, but Roman waved him off and tugged him to the kitchen, where Virgil and Patton worked. 

Anxiety still spiking his heart, they stepped through the doorway and into the sounds of lighthearted laughter. 

Virge looked up from a large pot of a delightfully smelling soup he lightly stirred with a wooden spoon, smiling gently at Logan and Roman. 

Patton slipped on oven mitts and gave the pair kind eyes as he pulled a large ceramic baking dish from the brick wood-oven and set it on the counter.

Logan swallowed saliva at the aroma. It smelled… absolutely delicious. Logan’s heightened sense of smell added layers. He could smell the bone of the cow, the individual sauces, every vegetable, the butter, the seasoning, _everything._ And all of it was amazing. _Good heavens,_ it was amazing.

Logan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal that wasn’t literally trying to run away as he took his first bites. Logan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal that had been _cooked._ Sure, he’d had a secret, slightly shameful taste for animal blood and flesh, but at some point, the same, hardly filling meal everyday just became an unpleasant experience. 

Observing a plate of creamy mashed potatoes placed on a tray next to a boat of brown gravy, which were, judging by the smells, all home cooked, Logan almost teared up. 

There was so much food. And all of it looked so good. He was malnourished, unused to eating cooked meals by years-- Logan wondered if he was dreaming. 

A resolute feeling rose in him. No matter how ashamed it made him feel, he was going to join them for dinner and patiently wait for his table scraps. God knows anything they’d give him at the end of that night would be the best meal he’d had in years.

Logan vaguely wondered if this is what it felt like to be one of those humans in the old myths who had gotten a chance at food of the fae. He wondered if he’d be like them, unable to stomach the food he’d grown accustomed to over the years if he ever had the chance to hunt and eat naturally again. He wondered if those humans who had been trapped were trapped not by the fae but by the idea of having to go back to human food. Had they stayed willingly?

“--ger, Stranger? You good?” Logan looked up to meet Virgil’s eyes, “Hey man, you kinda spaced out there a second, you feeling alright?”

Logan nodded, and looked away from the teen’s sparkling eyes, “Of course, is there anything I can do to help?”

Patton smiled at him and shook his head, “Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it, this is your first big meal with us! Just go sit down and the three of us will set the table and bring out the food. Thank you for offering, but it’s no biggie.”

Logan nodded and tugged at his fingers awkwardly, before turning around and heading back to the dining room. He took a look at the wooden square table with its four chairs, and then went back to the kitchen, scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“Uh. Hello, I was wondering if there’s any seating arrangement I should be aware of?”

Roman shook his head, “Nah, honestly we just sit wherever is closest to where we are in the moment. Seriously! It’s alright.”

Logan ducked his head and turned around, taking the seat in a corner. 

Ten minutes later, and all four were seated at the table, food stacked to the ceiling. 

To Logan’s mounting surprise, a plate and cutlery was placed before him at the same time as the others. Patton smiled warmly at him and passed kitchen tongs to him, “Here: you have first pick of the steaks! You’re our guest of honor.” 

Logan assessed him quizzically, before tentatively taking the tongs. 

He took a look at Virgil and Roman who nodded encouragingly, and still expecting an awful twist, he took a small-ish steak and placed it on his plate, before passing the tongs to Roman, on his right.

Checking to make sure he wasn’t making a mistake, he slowly put small piles of food on his plate, from the potatoes and the steak to the flavorful vegetables marinated and cooked in amazing sauces. He was even served a bowl of soup with the others.

The food looked amazing.

With Patton’s permission, he lifted a forkful of steak to his lips, anticipation killing him-- _he needed the flavor--_

He stopped.

He glanced at Virgil’s plate questioningly and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“What’s up big guy? You good?”

“Virgil, is that all you intend to eat?” He motioned questioningly to his plate, momentarily setting his own fork down. 

Virgil sighed, “Not you too…” 

Logan felt his stomach drop, realizing he must have overstepped, when Roman and Patton burst into a laughing fit.

Logan surveyed the three humans, from Virgil looking vaguely dead inside to the other, more mirth filled end of the table. “What’s going on…?”

Roman gesticulated vaguely with his wrist, “N-- nothing,” he gasped for breath, “it’s just that Pat and I are always telling him to eat more too…” 

Virgil groaned and rolled his eyes, “Guys come on! I eat plenty!”

Patton opened his mouth to refute his point, but Logan beat him to the punch: “On your plate, you have one quarter of a steak, a spoonful of broccoli, and such little mashed potatoes and gravy one could think you’re rationing the last food on earth. Virgil Knight, at least take more protein."

Roman giggled and Logan shot him a glance. “Dude you’re in so much trouble, the professor over here called you by your first and last name!”

“Roman Prince, don’t tease.” 

The laughs died in Roman’s throat and he looked down embarrassed, “Yessir.”

Logan turned expectantly back to Virgil, Patton watching the scene unfold slightly amused, taking a sip of his water like it was popcorn.

“Well young man?”

Virgil sighed and reached for another small piece of steak. Logan took the liberty of adding more potatoes to his half-filled plate.

Patton nodded at the situation impressed, _“I_ couldn’t even get him to eat more, you’re gonna have to teach me that trick sometime, teach.”

Virgil mumbled something unhappily. 

“What was that?” Roman asked him. The joy seen in siblings when one of their own gets in trouble for something petty was written all over his face. He wasn’t good at concealing it.

“I said that I don’t understand why I need to eat more. I get enough.” Virgil shrugged and cut into his steak with his knife.

Logan sighed unamused, “You’re still a pup Virgil, you need to eat large quantities of food if you wish to grow healthy.”

“A pup?”

Logan froze, realizing his mistake, “Teenager. You’re still a _teenager._ Now eat your potatoes.”

"How do _you_ know I'm a teenager?" Virgil baited, playfully. Logan felt confused, not getting that Virgil was joking around.

"Yesterday, you told me that you graduated recently. You're-- what, eighteen?"

Virgil winced, dropping the playful demeanor. "I-- I graduated two years early, I'm sixteen."

Logan vaguely wondered why someone would ever be ashamed of their intelligence. He didn't voice his question.

"Lord, _you're sixteen."_ He hurriedly put another helping of vegetables onto Virgil's plate.

"Hey!"

"Virgil, you're _sixteen._ Stop underfeeding yourself!"

“What’ll you do if I don’t?”

Logan turned to him, eyes ablaze. “Backtalk? Really? My, you’re rebellious,” he said, slightly under his breath. Louder: “I suppose there’s nothing I _can_ do except sorrowfully watch as your body wastes away from neglect. Now eat your food-- _good god, you look so_ thin-- _what's your daily caloric intake?"_

Roman snorted into his cup at Virgil's annoyance from being mother-henned over. Patton shot him a look.

"Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me,” he insisted, “I’ll eat now.”

Logan pointedly watched him take a bite of steak. Virgil spoke with his mouth full a little smugly, “It’s good, you should try it.”

Logan sighed. Virgil was cute but he could tell the boy could be a handful at times. A small smile on his own face, he took a bite of the vegetable dish.

If he almost cried in the kitchen at the smell, he definitely cried at the table from the taste.

Tears dripping down his face, he lets the cutlery drop to the plate, continuously mumbling _“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,..”_ to no one in particular.

Patton stood up alarmed, and walked to the opposite end of the table, rubbing at Logan’s shoulders soothingly, “What’s wrong?” 

Several moments pass, and Logan’s calmed down enough to explain. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “It’s just that I haven’t had a vegetable in something like eighteen years. I probably should have braced myself.”

Roman lets out a small gasp and covers his mouth. Virgil looks horrified.

“What did you normally eat?”

“Rabbits and deer sometimes. They were my favorites and they were also pretty easy to get. Honestly they’re all I’ve eaten for so long, I just--”

Logan gulped down a sob, “I’m sorry, I’m being irrational--”

“It’s alright, it’s alright. Don’t apologize, okay? You don’t have to. You can eat as much as you want now.”

After many assurances that it’s okay and he is allowed to eat, Logan eats more in one sitting than he’d sometimes go days. It’s safe to say that it’s not the first time he cries that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 4:34 am, I'm dead inside, I haven't started my homework and it's now technically sunday. At least I finally finished this chapter lol
> 
> As always, feel free to leave me comments and if you want to interact with me, try my tumblr (rainrainw01)  
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you have an awesome week, strangers.  
> \-- W01


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